


Could I Lie Next To You?

by romanticizingchemicals



Series: Frerard One-Shots • romanticizingchemicals [5]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Band, Bandom - Freeform, Cute, Drunk Gerard Way, Drunkenness, First Meetings, Fluff, Frerard, M/M, MCR, Mikey Way - Freeform, Music, My Chem, Ray Toro - Freeform, Sleep, Tears, The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You, frank iero - Freeform, gerard way - Freeform, horror flick, i have no idea how to tag this, sleeping, three cheers for sweet revenge, wtf are some of these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-18 23:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5946943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticizingchemicals/pseuds/romanticizingchemicals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>•I got inspired by nothing except my own mind, which suggested, "Hey, why not make Gee at Frank's house for like the first time because he was somewhere and shit and then he wants to sleep with Frank? Sounds great!"•</p><p>Title Inspiration: "The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You", by My Chemical Romance</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I don't know where I am.

 

I look around from my spot on the floor, sprawled across something hard and cold, gritty and sharp.

 

_Where the fuck am I?_

 

"Excuse me? Are you okay?" a faraway voice asks, and I blink a few times. Bright lights that had been blurry begin to sharpen, and I look up at a figure that's a blur against the brightness. "Hello?" the voice asks again, and I can make out the distant sounds of buzzing cars. I'm outside. On a sidewalk. 

 

_What is happening?_

 

I moan and rub my eyes, my head pounding and my body aching. I'm in a sore agony, my mind blank and without any memories to describe my predicament.

 

"Oh, thank God, you're alive," the figure speaks graciously, and leans down toward me. I take in the scent of smoke and gasoline, smiling slightly. I'm not sure where exactly I am, or who this is, but I believe the person is a male. His voice is deep enough, and his outline is quite masculine.

 

"Can... Can you stand?" he asks, and I nod slowly, pain shooting through my head. Why am I in all of this pain? The man grabs my hands and pulls me up to stand, and I dizzily sway on the spot, nearly falling over. The stranger slips his arm under my arms, straightening me and preventing me from falling over. I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my hoodie, the movement bringing back the initial soreness of my whole body. I wince quietly, and the man looks at me.

 

He's very short, and now that I can see him in some light, he is, in fact, a guy. His hair is dark, and his eyes catch the light slightly. He has earrings and a lip ring, and I have no idea who he is. "Who are you, and why am I here?" I slur, my throat sore and dry and hurting. I cough, only to create more pain. The man rubs the small of my back, and he starts walking. I hobble alongside him, and he answers, "I'm Frank, but I don't know why you were there. I guess you passed out or something. I just saw you lying there and thought you were dead, until I checked your pulse. Where's your home?"

 

Something inside of me breaks, though it's probably just a piece of my heart, but I can't figure out why. I begin sobbing, bringing both of my hands to my face, and Frank stops walking to look at me. "D-Did I say something? What's wrong?" he asks, concerned, but I provide no answer. I don't know what's wrong, but I also know that the word "home" is what triggered these sobs. 

 

Frank sighs and smiles sympathetically, and he continues walking. Where he's taking me, I don't know, but I'm sure that he'll keep me safe. "It's okay, it's okay. We'll stay at my place for the night. Don't cry," Frank whispers soothingly, and we continue walking. I'm so confused; I hurt, I can't seem to remember anything, and I have a splitting headache. 

 

Everything hurts, especially my stomach and my head. I have no idea what happened, and it's tearing me apart. Frank finally stops, and I realize that my sobbing and thoughts had occupied me long enough for us to arrive at Frank's home. We're in front of the door, and he takes out his keys to unlock it. "I'll get you something to eat, and we'll figure out what happened," he whispers reassuringly, unlocking the door and opening it gently. 

 

We step into the house, and I'm greeted by the familiar scent of coffee and smoke. Two of my favorite scents in the world. I'm still sniffling and shaking with hiccups as Frank turns on a light and shuts the door, leading me to what I guess is the living room. His house is fairly organized, though there's an occasional piece of trash or laundry on the floor.

 

"Excuse the mess. I wasn't planning on having guests," Frank mutters apologetically, bringing me over to the long sofa, "Sit tight, and I'll get you a bite to eat. Thirsty? Do you need a drink?"

 

Drink. Drunk. Party. Yelling. Screaming. People. Drink.

 

Drunk.

 

_"Gerard, you okay? You seem a little tipsy," Ray says, his voice full of genuine concern. I laugh lightly and brush it off, finishing off another beer. "I'm fine, I'm fine," I giggle, flipping my hand. Mikey rubs my shoulder uncertainly, shaking his head. "Are you sure? I think–"_

_I cut him off by insisting, "No, I'm fine! I just need to... Go to the bathroom..." I slur, standing up from the barstool. I work my way through the crowd of people at the bar, the heavy scent of alcohol filling the small area. Instead of going to the bathroom, I walk outside, the night air engulfing me. With a few unsteady steps, I trip towards a bush, hurling into it._

 

_The vomit stings my throat, leaving it dry and tasting awful. I spit out the remains of what's left in my mouth, and when I think that I'm done, I just start puking my guts out again. This happens a few more times, and I'm left shaking and crying. Like a child. A pitiful child._

 

_I'm still quite drunk, more tired than anything, as I sway down the sidewalk, throwing up once more into a potted plant next to a bench. With that, I feel myself slipping in and out of consciousness, and I end of tripping and falling to the ground, not bothering to get up._

 

I begin to cry again, and Frank looks at me in horror. "F-Fuck, sorry, did I do something wrong?" he stutters, and I shake my head, which is in my hands. "N-No, I'm s-sorry," I choke tearfully, "It's just... I'm so sick and tired of not having any control over my life. Too many d-drugs and too much alcohol. Every... Every single night." Why I'm explaining this to a complete and utter stranger, I have no idea. But it feels relieving to finally get my terrible addictions off of my chest.

 

"Oh," Frank whispers, and he realizes that I'm suffering from the overage of emotions and a terrible hangover. He shuffles to the kitchen, leaving me to sob by myself. I want him to come back; he's really cute, though I had only seen him through a blur of tears, and he's nice and understanding. I meet a complete stranger and I want nothing more than to be closer to him.

 

Frank returns after rummaging around his kitchen, returning with a box of saltine crackers, a glass of water, and two Aspirins. "Take these when you're ready," he offers, spreading the food across the coffee table, "And eat these slowly. You're probably really hungry." I nod slowly, wiping my nose on my sleeve and drawing a shaky breath. I pick up the water, my hand trembling and sore trying to pick up something that barely weighs anything.

 

Frank notices this struggle and takes the glass and the pills, holding them up. "Open your mouth," he instructs gently, and I do so. Placing the pills on my tongue, he places a hand under my chin, his hand cold against my skin. Frank tilts my head back slightly and brings the glass to my mouth, tipping it back so that the cool fluid rushes into my dry, waiting mouth. 

 

The feeling is refreshing, as my mouth is dry, and there's a lingering taste of vomit. I swallow the water and both of the pills with it, taking a deep breath. Frank puts his hand back down and nods, putting the cup back on the table and handing me the box of crackers. 

 

"Wanna watch a movie?" he asks, picking up a remote and holding it up. I nod and bring my legs to my chest, which causes me to fall over and into Frank's chest. I gasp in surprise and scramble back into a sitting position, but Frank smirks softly. "N-No, it's okay. You can... You can lean on me, if you need," he whispers, and I decide to do so. I lean against his chest, which rises and falls steadily, warm and comforting. He places an arm around my shoulders uncertainly, and when I don't object, he relaxes a bit. I like this.

 

I like it a lot.

 

Frank turns on the T.V., flipping through a few channels. He stops suddenly and looks down at me, and I look up at him. I finally admire his appearance in the light. He's dark-haired, as I had noticed earlier, and has smooth skin. His eyes are hazel and dark, full and smiling. Though his lashes are quite short, I love his eyebrows and the way they rise and fall.

 

"I haven't even asked you your name," he says slowly, realization causing him to smile. I grin and close my eyes for a few seconds. "Gerard," I reply quietly. Frank's eyebrows rise, and he nods.

 

"Gerard."

 

"Frank."

 

"Gerard."

 

He smiles again and changes the channel, a horror scene greeting us. A girl shrieks as people throw tampons and pads at her. "Aw, fuck yeah, Carrie!" Frank cheers, and I grin excitedly. I love horror films, especially this one. 

 

"Do you wanna watch this? Or do I need to change it?" he asks softly, and I shake my head. "No, I love Stephen King. This is a great one," I reply sincerely, and he grins in response. We turn our attention back to the movie, and my mind drifts off. One moment, I'm at a bar getting drunk, and the next I'm being escorted into a complete stranger's home. Life is full of surprises.

 

***

 

I'm not sure when I fell asleep, but I did, and I awake with a start. Expecting everything to have been a dream, I'm surprised to still be leaning against Frank, though I'm laying in his lap now. "Shit, sorry," I apologize groggily, but he shakes his head. "It's okay. The movie ended. I was just about to move you to the guest room," he says in a hushed voice, and I realize that his hand is aimlessly running through my hair. I bite my lip and nod, sitting up carefully. My headache is gone, but there's a distinct tiredness to my movements.

 

Frank stands up and offers me his hand, which I take, and leads me to the guest room. I hate the idea of leaving him, but I need the sleep. The room is small and dark, with a small bed pressed against the wall. There's sheet music and records everywhere, a few guitars laying against the wall. "Once again, I didn't expect guests. I use this room to practice in, so it's a mess..." Frank explains, kicking some paper out of the way. I nod and settle onto the bed, and Frank smiles. "I hope you... Wait a second, you haven't even brushed your teeth or taken a shower. Fuck. You smell like vomit and sweat, anyways, so you might wanna take a shower," he realizes, and I shrug at the missed actions. I do need a shower, and the dry, disgusting taste in my mouth would fair well if fought with minty toothpaste.

 

***

 

"And there you go. That's much better," Frank whispers as I climb into bed a second time, and he places a hand on my shoulder. His eyes linger on my own for a few seconds, and then he stands up. "Thank you for everything," I say graciously, and he smiles. "No problem. Goodnight, Gerard," Frank replies, turning off the light and leaving the room.

 

I smell the shirt I'm wearing, which smells like Frank. Well, it's his shirt, so I'd assume that it would smell like him. I'm also wearing a pair of his sweats, and the shirt is a Queen shirt, comfortable and loose. If it's loose on me, then it must be gigantic on him.

 

I hear Frank's footsteps fade away, and he turns off the lights in all the rooms as he walks to his own room. Though I'm warm and in bed, something nags at the back of my head. I'm lonely, and I want the attention. I want to be with Frank right now, because that's how pathetic I am. But he makes me so happy; so warm.

 

I like that feeling.

 

After fifteen minutes of trying to ignore this feeling, I curse and roll out of bed, padding quietly out of the room. Towards Frank's room.

 

I lean against the frame of his bedroom door, and he's laying on his bed on his phone. I realize that the reason that neither Ray nor Mikey had tried to find me was because one, I'm a grownup, and two, I don't have my phone. I must've left it at home.

 

Frank sees my silhouette in the doorway, and he shifts to look at me. "Hey, Gee," he whispers tiredly, "Whatcha need?"

 

I twiddle my thumbs in embarrassment, knowing how childish and desperate my request will sound, but I decide to ask anyways.

 

"Could... Could I maybe sleep with you? I know it sounds stupid, but could I maybe...?" 

 

Even in the dark, I can sense Frank's wide smile. He sets down his phone on the nightstand and scoots over, saying, "Of course. It's not stupid, it's really not any trouble." I grin and slip into bed beside him, and we face each other. After a few moments, he whispers, "Glad I met you. I don't have any friends, and I'm hoping that I just made one." 

 

I bite my lip. "Maybe you did. And maybe you met more than a friend," I respond uncertainly, turning away from him. I do this out of embarrassment. Did I really just say that? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

 

Frank tries to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, he settles for scooting closer to me, and begins playing with my hair.

 

"Hopefully it's the second one. Goodnight, Gee."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I know that this is supposed to be a one-shot, but someone asked me to do a follow-up to this, so I'm gonna do it. 
> 
> xoromanticizingchemicals

*three weeks later*

 

"Frank," I call, hanging up my coat on the hook behind the door, closing the door behind me. I'm greeted by silence, so I furrow my brows and slip off my boots, walking down the hallway. Normally, Frank is here waiting for me, with a smile and maybe some ice cream or food. But today, he's not. 

 

And that kind of makes me nervous. 

 

Just as I'm starting to panic, a pained groan comes from the bathroom, so I scoot down the hallway as quickly as I can. "Frank, baby, are you okay?" I ask as I knock on the door, and I hear someone cough. 

 

That can't be good. I try the knob, but it's locked. "Frank!" I call, pounding on the door. There's some movement from behind it, and there's a click as the door is thrown open. A very disshelved and exhausted-looking Frank is standing in the crack, and he throws himself into my arms. The scent of vomit is extremely prominent as I take a whiff of Frank's hair, and I hug him as well, rubbing his back. 

 

"I'm sick," he pouts, heaving a shaky sigh. I frown and bring his head to my chest, our breathing falling into gentle, same rhythms. "Aw, poor Fwankie. Do we need to get him some soup?" I tease, and he punches me with what little strength he has. Just then, he gags and throws me off of him, rushing to the toilet and leaning over it.

 

I close my eyes as he hacks and pukes into the toilet, which I had just cleaned yesterday. The weekends were the times that I enjoyed cleaning and then just hanging out with Frank, but looking down at the once sterile, white toilet, I can no longer call it sanitary. Instead, it's caked in dried liquid that makes me want to vomit as well. Poor Frank. 

 

Frank coughs and moans, and I open my eyes and approach him, placing an arm around his shoulder and whispering, "It's okay. You'll be okay." He screws his eyes shut and draws a trembling breath, and I hold my own so that I won't be able to smell his vomit. "I hate puking. I hate it so much," he groans painfully, coughing again and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. 

 

"I know, baby. Why did you get sick?" I ask quietly, and Frank pulls back. "That stupid Chinese restaurant you took me to last night," he accuses with severity, "It was that orange chicken! I told you that it wasn't chicken! Do you know how much of it I ate? Do you know how much I ate last night and this morning? Do you know how painful it is to throw up Chinese food?" He bites his cheek and turns to the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing his face with water. 

 

I rest a hand on his back and ask, "Do you think you're done?" He rolls his eyes and turns off the water. "I thought that I was before you came in, and look where that got me. My stomach feels empty, but my body'll find some way to make me puke again," he says sorrowfully, deciding to curl up in my arms again. I rub the nape of his neck with my thumb and hope that it makes him feel calmer, because he's shaking like crazy. "Do I need to make you any food? Crackers? Soup?" I ask, and he nods quickly. "Though I'm a bit skeptical eating anything you cook," he said slowly, and I recall the burnt lasagna I had made a few nights ago for him, "I really want some soup."

 

Letting him go, I nod and walk back out the door, heading towards the kitchen. After some careless searching and fumbling around the pantry for some chicken noodle soup, my hands find a can. I read the label, which reads "Chicken and Noodles", and pull the can out of the pantry, grabbing a bowl from above the counter and setting it down.

 

Frank doesn't have many bowls, because he's broken several by standing on the counter to reach them. That's why he owns more plastic, child-safe bowls than actual glass ones. He is simply too small to function like a normal sized human being. I open up the can of soup, only cutting myself on the lid once, and pour the contents into the bowl, slipping it into the microwave and punching in a few numbers. I've never actually really made soup before, so I hope that a minute and a half will work. 

 

As I press the "START" button and turn away, the microwave makes a few very weird noises, and there's a very loud pop and some sizzling. Curiously and nervously, I turn back around and peep inside the microwave, only to find that the lid of the soup is aflame. 

 

Did I actually leave the can's lid in the microwave? What?

 

I panic and throw open the door of the microwave, reaching for a drawer where we keep things we don't use too often and pulling out a pair of tongs, and grab the lid with them, carefully rushing it over to the sink and throwing it in. I turn on the water and blow on it, the flame quickly diminishing. Though the source is out, the whole kitchen smells like fire and burnt stuff. Apparently, it leaks through the house quickly.

 

"Gee! What's that smell?" Frank cries from the bathroom, and I clench my teeth. "Nothing, Frankie!" I reply, quickly returning to the soup and closing the microwave again, resuming the cook time. There aren't any more distractions as I throw away the can and its lid, putting the tongs back in the drawer and looking around. I pour Frank a glass of water and make to set it on the coffee table, trying to pass time as I wait for the soup.

 

I decide that we should probably take it easy, so I choose one of Frank's movies from underneath the coffee table. He has several, but I just decide on Children of the Corn, because why not? I put that into the DVD player and turn on the television, making my way to the bathroom to retrieve Frank. When I approach him, he rubs at his eyes frantically and sighs. "I hate being sick. For starters, it's painful and smells awful. Also, I don't wanna pass it onto you, especially if it's just a bug," he moans, "And it reminds me too much of being drunk." 

 

My heart pretty much stops at the last one, and I recall the past few weeks. Frank has been helping me get through my alcoholism, and though I'm frequently coming over to his home intoxicated and tipsy, he's always waiting with water and pills. "I'll get better," I would always say, and he would nod, patting my mouth and waiting by me as I got through my drunkeness. 

 

"Yeah?" I ask softly, grabbing his hand and leading him to the living room. He follows without protest, sniffing and coughing, and I set him down on the couch, covering him with the throw blanket he keeps over the back of the it. "I'm a grown man, you know," he mutters, kicking at me like a child, "You don't need to baby me." I chuckle and finish tucking him in, handing him his soup and sitting down on the far side of the couch, but he moans in protest. "No, sit by me," he whines, and I shrug and stand up, sliding under the blanket beside him. 

 

We sit in silence as the movie begins, the only sound being Frank sipping from the soup slowly. "You're too good to me," he whispers as I slip an arm around him and kiss his cheek, "I'm sick as fuck and you could get sick too. And I know that you hate throwing up more than I do. But you're still comforting me and babying me and taking care of me. Why?"

 

I smile to myself and kiss his head again, scooting closer so that his head is against my chest. "Because I love you. A lot," I say back, and he nuzzles my chest. He giggles and leans his head back, puckering his lips and closing his eyes. "Kish meh," he says through pursed lips, and I laugh, but I lean down to kiss him anyways. 

 

Just the split seconds our mouths meet is disgusting enough for me to want to gag, because I can still taste vomit, and it's mingled with the soup. So I pull back and wipe off my mouth, and he chuckles. "You're so gross," I grunt, pushing him playfully, and he laughs even louder. "But you still love me," he counters, and we return our attention back to the movie. In all honesty, it's really cheesy, but I just enjoy Frank's company, even if he's sick and vomiting.

 

"If you get sick, I'll still probably take care of you, but I'll do so from a distance," Frank interrupts again, and I roll me eyes. "Because you're a pussy," I reply, and he shakes his head. "If I was, then why do you hang out with me? You're gay, idiot," he says, laughing at his own joke.

 

I stick my tongue out at him and scrunch up my nose.

 

"Whatever," I say, "But you're right. And I have the best boyfriend in the world, even if he's gross and sick." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Did you guys like? I hope you did, because there are so many cute works out there that I can't really take ideas from so I'm like "neeeeh c'mon be original", so this is the shitty product...
> 
> xoromanticizingchemicals


End file.
